A Tribute to the Fallen
by lokilette
Summary: During the Second Wizarding War, many witches and wizards lost their lives. In their last moments, they meet Death, who asks one question: "Do you fear me?" Their answers depend on the one characteristic that ruled their lives. Includes: Remus, Dora, Ted, Bella. Rated M for death and violence.
1. Remus Lupin

The night is dark. Blue eyes are at the window. Remus sees them, but he doesn't believe they're there. Like the bogeyman, if he closes his eyes hard enough, if he wishes them away, then they must not exist.

The night splinters with the tinkle of broken glass. Blue eyes are at his bedside. He feels the hot, acrid breath, engulfed in the fumes of death, and flesh, and rot. The snout splits into a grin, revealing rows of jagged teeth and a blood-lust that he can recognize, even at not-quite-five years old.

The night is rumbling: low, echoing sounds, the antithesis of his pounding heart. Blue eyes are all he can see. Trembling hands clutch the blanket, hugging it to his chin: a shield against the world. Breathing staggers—sharp, quick gasps—and then he holds it, as if that will disguise him.

Dad always says there's nothing to fear in the night, but he knows it's there in his soul, like a parasite gnawing at his emotions. It's in his spine, shooting shivers down his body—immobilizing, paralyzing.

Then he feels it: ripping, tearing, and branding his skin. Waves of flames billow up from his leg, engulfing his body. There's something warm and wet under him, seeping into his clothes, staining his skin, but he's so cold. The black reaches for him, menacing, suffocating, and he fights against it. There is no opposing it as it encases him in icy binds.

The last thing he sees are blue eyes in the night.

 **...oOo...**

He screams.

It comes out in low, guttural tones, so much like a beast that the sound turns his stomach, but he can't stop it. There's no holding it back. His body breaks in crescendos of pain—skin stretching taut to the point of tearing, bones shattering in muted pops and cracks, skin prickling and itching as hair sprouts.

He's alone. Always alone.

His parents had had the usual teary-eyed, red-faced expressions, hands trembling as they pulled the door closed hours ago. He heard it loud and clear in the quiver of their voice, saw the way they averted their gaze, understood what their mumbled apologies meant. They fear him.

They aren't alone.

Everyone fears him, as if he has chosen this life, as if he can help what he is. He hates it, the monster he's become. Even as his world is saturated with blood-lust, even as his senses devolve into a simple human/non-human categorization system, he rages against it.

What could he do? What would he do?

Both are questions he can't answer, and that's what terrifies him the most. He can hear them outside the door: one crying, one cursing. It's almost over now, and he's slipping, losing grasp regardless of how hard he tries to cling to consciousness.

He screams.

A part of him wonders, _Will it always be this way?_

 **...oOo...**

"What if...something happens?"

It's not the question his father wants to ask, but he phrases it kindly because Remus is there. They all know what he means. There's only one thing a beast can be expected to do: murder.

"I assure you, I have taken the necessary precautions. Remus is more than welcome to attend Hogwarts. It is my job to care for all the students, and you have my word that I take my duty rather seriously."

It's unheard of, and Remus is well aware that every other headmaster would have eagerly dismissed him. But not this one. In those twinkling sapphires, as their eyes meet, he discovers something unexpected: trust.

What if the headmaster is wrong?

Remus is shaking enough for the both of them, has enough foresight for the both of them. It's a mistake. They all know it. Mom fiddles with her fingers and smooths the wrinkles of her robes; Dad stares at the floor with unprecedented fascination. He's dangerous. He can't control it and never could. After all this time, he _is_ the monster.

What if someone discovers what he is?

A werewolf doesn't belong among wizards.

 **...oOo...**

He can't control it.

It shakes him to the core like an earthquake, and his body cracks and splinters in response. He's dying—if only it were that easy—and being reborn, and all the while they're watching him. He wants to tell them to look away, but the words come out as low, beastly rumbles. They insisted on this, begged him for it, but what must they think of him now?

Remus is afraid to look, afraid of what he'll see. When he does, they don't turn away. Peter trembles, but he's always like that. James smiles and flashes a thumbs up. Sirius says something about looking better this way. But then he's slipping, even as he tries to warn them, losing himself to the transformation.

Even as the wolf takes over, he can sense them: three living creatures near him. The wolf is disinterested in them; they aren't humans and not worth its time. But they're there. When he wakes in the morning, confused and disoriented, they're still there. They're smiling, like nothing happened, like he isn't a monster. He's just Remus, the fourth Marauder.

For the first time, he realizes that he does not have to bear the burden alone.

 **...oOo...**

They're dead.

The realization washes over him like a misty rain, chilling his skin, drenching him in sweat. In two days, the only four friends he had in the world were snatched from him.

He's alone. Always alone.

An eerie quiet has swallowed Godric's Hollow, and it matches the black hole in his chest as he walks among the rubble. He hadn't been there, not for any of them, and they hadn't trusted him enough to be honest. They hadn't trusted him.

The realization is a knife to the gut, leaving him wounded and bleeding, waiting for someone to save him. He knows no one will come, and he knows he can't save himself. So he sits among the debris, head buried in his hands, and he cries.

A part of him wonders, _Will it always be this way?_

 **...oOo...**

The nightmares start.

Blue eyes. He can feel the blood pooling under him. Dad is screaming; Mom is crying. The cold settles over him; he knows the Dementors have arrived.

For a moment, he hesitates, allowing pity to get the best of him. They weren't so different, werewolves and Dementors. One's lust for happiness was matched by the other's lust for flesh. They were both monsters, and perhaps it did not wish to be one, either.

With a flick of his wand, he casts the spell to drive it away. When he is finished, he finds two sets of eyes staring at him. The third is coming to, so he gives him some chocolate and offers some reassuring words.

The nightmare is just beginning.

He takes in the round, boyish face and black hair—so much like his father. He gazes into the familiar green eyes—just like his mother. The boy is frightened, looking to him for answers. Remus wishes he had some; he has none. He's never had any. The realization only leaves him with more questions.

Why did he believe he could do this?

A werewolf doesn't belong among wizards.

 **...oOo...**

She's dangerous.

He knows this, but he's never been one to shy away from peril. The more Remus pushes Nymphadora away, the tighter she clings to the flicker of hope that they might have a future. Something must be wrong with her. Something's obviously wrong with him.

He says it's not possible; she says it is. He says they can't; she says they must. He says never; she says always. But even though she exhibits every ounce of the Black temper, she is all that is light in the world. She is too young, too rich in all that life has to offer; he is too old and too poor. Beauty and the beast is nothing more than a Muggle fairy tale.

She says, "Look at what they have," and he does. The young couple has everything he has ever wanted. It's beauty in the face of destruction; life despite of death; love, even for a monster. She takes his hand, and his resolve starts to fray.

He is reminded that he does not have to bear the burden alone.

 **...oOo...**

"What have I done?"

He wants to break something, but this isn't his house, and his father is watching him closely. It isn't enough that he's had to suffer the curse, but now he has committed an egregious sin; he's passed it on. Werewolves were never meant to breed.

"They're better off without me."

"You don't mean that, Remus."

"I do!"

He whirls towards the man, snarling, angry, and he suddenly understands the animal that has been in him all this time. But his father doesn't flinch. There is a strange shimmer to his eyes, and Remus understands what it is as the tears start to fall.

"I'm sorry," the old man whispers. The crying lends a soft quiver to the voice, and he can't remember Dad ever being this way. After all this time, has he managed to destroy him, too?

"It's my fault. He attacked you because of _me_. You're this way because of _me._ I couldn't protect you. All the hardships you've faced in the past are because of me, but I am _not_ going to sit here and let you throw your future away because of me, too. Remus John Lupin, you _will_ go back and beg your wife's forgiveness, and you'll be an amazing father. You'll be the father I wish I could have been."

For a change, he notices how frail and gray the old man has become, how beaten down and defeated. He leans into a hug and absorbs his guilt; it belongs to them both now. They've both been foolish.

"I would be honored to be even half the father you've been."

For the first time in his life, he realizes that he has never borne the burden alone.

 **...oOo...**

 _I'm sorry._

The two words ricochet around his mind like a soundtrack to the war he's caught up in. The war he will die in. When he walked out that night, leaving his child in the arms of his mother-in-law, he had said the usual things: I'll be back, stay safe, I love you. What he meant was, "I'm sorry."

His vision is blurred by the flash of spells and the sting of sweat. A familiar feeling breaks over him, one he knows all too well. Hands, sweaty, grip his wand tightly. Muscles tense. Breathing staggers—sharp, quick gasps. Heart beats loudly in his ears, the antithesis of the cackle that peels from the Death Eater's lips.

Remus sees the flash, but he's too slow to dodge. He knows what's coming. Ever since he was not-quite-five years old, he was intended to be a sacrifice to the Dark; now, he is a willing sacrifice for the Light.

As the spell catches him in the chest, his only regret is never having said, "I'm sorry."

The ground beneath him is cold. The Death Eater is standing over him now, lips peeled back in laughter as he delivers the final spell.

The last thing he sees are brown eyes in the night.

 **...oOo...**

"Do you fear me?"

Remus regards the hooded figure before him, but he doesn't answer. Fear? He's known it before.

 _The night is dark._

 _He screams._

 _What if something happens?_

 _He can't control it._

 _They're dead._

 _The nightmares start._

 _She's dangerous._

 _What have I done?_

 _I'm sorry._

Nymphadora is beside him, that stubborn, beautiful woman. Teddy is at home. He's safe. He's not a werewolf. He will know the love of his grandparents. They will speak of his father, the werewolf. He will hear stories of his father's bravery without ever having to know the truth. Lyall will have a second chance at protecting the boy he loves, and Remus has faith that this time he'll succeed.

The voice comes again, deep and raspy like leaves skittering over a tombstone.

"Do you fear me?"

"No."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Written for the QLFC season 3, round 4. Emotion prompt: 'scared' (forbidden word). Also written for the Diagon Alley II "In Tribute to the Fallen". Thanks to my lovely betas: Shane and my partner in crime, Sol.

 **Update:** Score: 10/10.


	2. Nymphadora Lupin

**Author's Note:** So, the first chapter's emotion, scared, was actually a prompt. However, I kind of liked playing with the format/idea of there being one word that can encompass someone's life and influence their death. For Nymphadora, the word I chose to represent her was loyalty. Reviews, as always, are appreciated!

* * *

The monster is back.

The sound sends shivers up her spine as her breath hitches. Dora's heard it before, on rare occasions. Only at night. Only when she's supposed to be sleeping and she sneaks out of bed to visit the loo. Normally, she creeps away to hide under her blankets until sleep finds her again. But not tonight.

Gathering courage around her like a cloak of invisibility, she tiptoes, barefoot, across the chilly floor. When she cracks the door, she's relieved to find not something that nightmares are made of but her mother, sitting in the desk chair. But...she's crying. Only, that can't be right, because Mummy never cries.

As far as she knows, no one likes to cry alone, so she sidles up to the chair. Mummy looks surprised, at first, before welcoming Dora onto her lap as she brushes away the remnants of tears.

"Why are you crying, Mummy?"

"It's silly adult things, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that!"

She huffs indignantly, but her mother just smiles.

"I thought you were supposed to be in bed."

"I _was_." She hesitates for a moment. "Did someone make you sad?"

"In a way. I guess I just miss them more than I imagined I would."

Dora isn't sure who or what Mummy is talking about, but she buries herself deeper in those safe, warm arms anyway.

"It'll be OK, Mummy. At least you have me, and _I'll_ never leave you."

 **...oOo...**

"He's dead. My father is..."

The voice trails off as the tears are finally loosed from their confines. Dora chews her lip as she watches her dormmate. Her own father is safe at home. What would she do if something were to ever happen to him? The thought alone is enough to send a shiver cascading down her spine.

There are no words. There will never be words for this. Dora slips into bed with the other Hufflepuff, pulling her knees to her chest, and just sits. It won't make it better; nothing in the world can. She doesn't hesitate as the other girl leans into her, simply snakes an arm around the shaking shoulders. Wordlessly. Silently.

Some things don't need to be said, yet she says them anyway, for her own sake.

"It'll be OK. You don't have to do this alone."

 **...oOo...**

Her heart races.

Not for the first time, she questions the wisdom of her decisions. Her mentor must sense her insecurity, because he turns his good eye to her, the other circling wildly in his head.

"Ya need to decide if this is really what ya want, Tonks. If not, I'm better off doin' this alone."

His words cut her to the quick. Is this what she wants? No, she decides, even if there's a small voice nagging her that says yes. But she follows Mad-Eye anyway, into the poorly lit alley, because, damn it, she's trained hard to be there and she won't ditch him during a mission.

The darkness swallows them, and the bustle of the city fades away as they go deeper into the outskirts, where all the secrets and shadows dwell. It's a bad part of town, one that she's not particularly eager to go, but the wizard they're supposed to capture will be there. Mad-Eye seems sure of it, and his judgment is often keen. She's learned that much, at least.

When they find him, he's alone, and Mad-Eye waves for her to hang back. He enters the building alone, and she doesn't even put up a fuss.

He's disappointed, she can tell. He expected more from her. They all did. The last thing she wants is to let everyone down, but training has been tough, and her confidence is shaken. It's one wizard; he doesn't need her.

But then the shadows move, and there are two, then three, then four black masses squeezing into the building. Is this what she wants? Yes, she decides, even if there's a small voice nagging her that says no. She plunges into the building, sneaking, even though it's not her forte. She manages to dispatch one of the wizards undetected, even though she nearly failed the stealth exam.

Then she's finally made it to Mad-Eye, and they stand back-to-back, wands at the ready. There are four shadows surrounding them, but the odds are still in their favor. With a smile, she lets her mentor know, in a low voice, that she's made her decision:

"Let's do this together."

 **...oOo...**

Slowly, between stolen glances, he steals her heart.

He warns her away, time and again, but she refuses to hear it; she's inherited her parents' stubbornness. A monster cannot love, he insists. Does not deserve to love. Should not love. But when she looks into his eyes, his soul mirrors hers. They are not a perfect match. She is young; he is old. She is outgoing; he is reserved. She trusts her emotions; he relies on logic. The love she feels for him is real. They are not a perfect match, but they balance each other perfectly.

He is afraid to bring her down, because a werewolf is not welcome, as far as most wizards are concerned, but she's no stranger to being an outcast. She doesn't care about the world. It isn't about them. It never has been.

When she sees the happy couple, a half-Veela and a wolfish human, she knows it's possible, if only he would _understand_.

"She still loves him. She doesn't care," Dora whispers, and she feels Remus' will bending. It's not true understanding, not yet, but it's a start. At least she has something to work with.

She slips her hand in his. For a change, he doesn't retreat into his shell. His strong hand envelops hers, and he squeezes it for the briefest of seconds. She leans in to whisper.

"It'll be OK. You don't have to do this alone."

 **...oOo...**

He's gone, but she's not alone.

Dora can feel the life stirring inside her already, strong and vibrant. It gives her hope for the next generation. It gives her a reason to fight, because the thought of bringing a life into this world that is falling apart around them absolutely terrifies her. She's happy to know that their family is growing and their love is preserved eternally in the child that will be a little bit of each of them.

Remus is happy, too, but it's shadowed by doubt. He fears the curse of lycanthropy, but she does not. She does not dread it in the man and will not in her child. It is still a burden that he feels he must carry alone, but she refuses to let him. So she waits patiently, because his insecurities are their insecurities, and though he must face his demons alone, she doesn't intend to abandon him on the battlefield.

There is a knock at the door, and she knows he's returned. She never believed for a second that he wouldn't, but, like a lot of men, he takes time to recognize his foolishness. Mum is less than happy with him and lets him know it as she opens the door. Of course she is; she would never run. But even Dad is running, rather than betraying his morals. There is no shame in running, so long as you remember where it is you'll return to. No one can really run forever.

When she approaches, he looks away, trying to hide the shame and anger that are reflected in his eyes and failing miserably. She takes his hand.

"Let's do this together."

 **...oOo...**

The room was still.

No one even dared to breathe, lest it be true.

"Maybe...maybe they're wrong. Maybe it-, it's a mix-up. I mean, he can't be—"

Remus says the words, but no one believes it. There was no mistaking it. Potterwatch had never been wrong, and they aren't wrong when they call the name "Edward Tonks," no matter how much they wish it is.

Mum sits on the couch stoically, but her resolve is crumbling, flecking away bit by bit. Dora's reminded of the woman crying behind closed doors, mourning the loss of a family she was turned out of for refusing to forsake the man she loved. Not regretting—never regretting—but acknowledging the loss and giving it permission to exist.

She curled up on the couch next to her mother, pulling her feet up and leaning into her for strength. The world blurred, and her tears became too heavy to blink back. They fell, slowly at first, and then flowing freely, before she could stop them.

"Oh, Nymphadora...Dora..."

For once, she wishes Mum had stopped at her full name, because it hurts too much to hear her nickname and to be reminded that he will never utter it again.

"It'll be OK, Mummy. I'll never leave you."

 **...oOo...**

Her heart is breaking.

She's torn between worlds. Teddy needs her, will always need her, but he's not the only one. As she holds him, pressed to her chest, letting their heartbeats meld together, they are all out fighting a war. It's all for him, for the prospect of a future he will grow up in. How could she not be there?

Her husband, whom she vowed to always be one with. Her colleagues, whom she promised she would look after. As much as she yearns to stay, she knows her place is out there, and she won't abandon her friends so easily.

When she enters the living room, Mum is sitting in a rocking chair, staring at the door. She knows—that's obvious—but she won't stand in the way. She never has.

Dora places Teddy gently in her arms, kissing him lightly on the forehead. She mirrors the sentiment with her mother, touching her lips to the woman's forehead as a silent apology for breaking her heart.

"I'm sorry, but I have to leave you."

 **...oOo...**

The world is still. Her mind is sluggish.

All around her, the battle still rages on, but it somehow feels distant, like a nightmare she's slowly waking up from. Time seems to slow around her, like she's not really a part of it anymore. When she looks down, she sees...herself—paler, stiffer.

The panic sets in with short, gasping breaths as the truth dawns on her: she's dead. And her son...No, her son is safe with her mother. With all of her heart, she hopes that he can assuage the guilt she must feel for outliving both a husband and a daughter.

A rush of calm settles over her as a familiar figure approaches—that brave, foolish man. His blue eyes reflect her own sadness, but, at the very least, neither of them is alone.

Before them, a figure is borne from the darkness, shadows rising up into a black, wispy cloak. His voice, like the wheeze of dying lungs, rings out.

"Do you fear me?"

Dora hesitates, glancing at the man she vowed to spend her life with. She slips her hand into his, hoping that the gesture says all the things she 's feeling: I'll never leave you, you don't have to do this alone, let's do this together.

She turns back to the figure in front of her.

"No."


	3. Ted Tonks

**Author's Note:** Ted! Lovely Ted. The word I've chosen for him is steadfastness. I've actually never written Ted before or given him much thought, so this was quite interesting. I hope I've captured him well enough. :)

* * *

"I'm going to Hogwarts."

"Ted, hunny, are you sure? I mean, you'll be away for so long." Mum reaches over to rub his head. Even though he is practically an adult, he lets her do it, hoping it will reassure her enough so she'll agree to let him go.

"I'll write. Lots. All the time. I promise."

"What about all your friends?" Dad shoves his hands in his pockets as a frown highlights the wrinkles in his face. The gears in his head are clearly whirring now, which means he's not far away from conceding the argument.

"I'll make new friends."

His parents exchange looks—Mum with knitted brows and dad chewing the inside of his cheek.

"He _is_ a wizard, Emily. That's not exactly something you find out every day. It'd be a shame for him to miss the opportunity."

"But what if they made a mistake? What if he's not?"

"It's not a mistake!" Ted interjects indignantly. He considers offering to prove it, but it seems like a bad time to risk breaking something.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Mum asks. Her expression pleads for him to say no, and he's almost sorry to disappoint her.

"Yes."

"You know, you can't change your mind once you get there," Dad says, but even as the words spill out, his face softens. He is prepared to give up the fight. "You need to make sure you don't have any doubts."

Ever since Ted received the acceptance letter, this was all he'd wanted. Yes, it's sad, having to leave everything behind—his parents, his friends, the life he has always known. But the possibilities! There's no telling what he can do as a wizard or where he can go.

Despite what he has to give up, he wants this more than anything.

"I won't change my mind."

 **...oOo...**

She's forbidden fruit.

Everyone's made that painfully clear, but that won't stop him. They insist that a Pureblood like her is far too good for a Mudblood like him, but they have it backwards. It's true that most Purebloods deserve each other, but that's mostly because no self-respecting person, Muggle or otherwise, would put up with them.

But not Andromeda Black. As much as she is the spitting image of her older sister, the two are not always so alike. From the moment they first bumped into each other, quite literally, and her eyes widened in surprise as his books tumbled to the ground, he was sure of it. It was unheard of, unthought of, downright blasphemous, but two little words had slipped from those pretty lips: _I'm sorry._ She apologized. To a _Muggle-born_. There was hope for her yet.

So Ted developed the habit of catching her at the right times, when she's all alone, in order to chip at her shell little by little. Not enough to break her—he couldn't if he tried—but just enough to produce the facets necessary for her brilliance to shine through. She resists, like the Black that she is, but that won't deter him. Not when he's so sure of what he wants.

He waits for her, for the umpteenth time, pressed against the wall in one of the corridors he's sure she'll to take to class, and she doesn't disappoint. As she approaches, he opens his mouth, but his intentions are cut short by her curt dismissal.

"The answer is still no."

"It doesn't have to be a date," he reasons, falling into step beside her. "It could just be, you know, a picnic by the lake or something."

"That sounds an awful lot like a date."

"OK, what about a simple walk around the lake?"

"Not this time, Ted."

She picks up her pace, and he willingly allows her to escape. They both realize that he's won because, for the first time, she's used his nickname instead of Tonks or Edward. It's a small victory, but that's irrelevant; she's every bit worth the struggle. Before she turns the corner and has completely slipped through his grasp, he warns her, yet again of his intentions.

"I'm not giving up!"

 **...oOo...**

He's selfish.

Horribly so, and yet he has no intention of apologizing for it. He would never ask her to make the choice, but he doesn't have to. She makes it willingly. She is no longer Andromeda Black, and the transformation is both beautiful and distressing. The family tree has been pruned, they've been told, to hide their transgressions, but their loss is his gain.

She still has reservations, even on their wedding day, because she understands, sometimes a bit too well, the sense of Black pride and betrayal. There will be retaliation at some point, she's sure of it, and she doesn't want him caught up in it. But he's already ensnared and has been from the moment they met.

"But my family..."

"Your family can stuff it."

He understands her concern. She is strong, so very strong, and sure of her decisions, but this hesitation isn't about her. It's about him. But what kind of husband would he be if he buckled so easily and traded love for security? It's not a choice she's made; it's a choice they've made together.

"I won't change my mind."

 **...oOo...**

"It's a girl."

The nurse places a bundle in his arms, a wad of blanket filled with grunts, and groans, and tiny fingers.

"We're not going to keep trying for a boy," Dromeda informs him before he can even fully process what his world has become.

"No Tonks heir?" he asks, though he's more amused than disappointed. It would have been nice to have a son, but how could he so easily dismiss the miracle that is squirming in his arms?

"I was thinking we should name her Nymphadora."

"Nymphadora Tonks, hm? That's an awful mouthful. Why not a simpler name? You know, my mother's name is Emily. Em is a cute nickname. Or Emma."

"It sounds too Muggle. No offense. She'll be Nymphadora."

"OK, so you don't like Emily. What about Caroline? Melanie?"

Dromeda goes to answer, but he cuts her off.

"I know, I know. Nymphadora."

He pulls the baby closer and whispers, "I apologize for your Mum. She doesn't know any better." It earns him a sharp look from his wife, but his daughter grunts as if she understands. "I think I'll call you...Dora."

"You're not upset?"

"Of course not. Our daughter will be able to do anything a boy can and then some. Isn't that right?"

He holds his index finger—giant in comparison—next to Dora's, and the small fingers curl around it. Such a strong grip, as if she's afraid of ever having to let go. One day, maybe—nobody lives forever—but not so long as he can help it.

"I will always be there," he whispers into her ear, low enough so it's a secret that only they share. She smiles in response—gas, according to the healers, but he knows better.

"Everything will be just fine."

 **...oOo...**

There's a knock at the door, and he knows it means trouble.

Dromeda does, too, because he watches from across the room as she sets her jaw and rises slowly from the chair. A storm's brewing on the horizon, and for a moment he can't decide if he should take shelter or weather the rising tide.

She yanks the door open before he has time to choose and immediately tears into the man on the other side, who shrinks into himself with every harsh word.

"The _nerve_ you have! Showing up here without so much as a word from you in Merlin knows how long, not a patronus, not so much as an owl, leaving your pregnant wife to fuss over you all this time."

"I haven't been fussing, Mum," Dora interjects, but a sharp glance from her mother is enough to silence her objections, at least for a moment.

"I was really hoping to be able to speak to Dora for a moment, if you don't mind," Remus chokes out in a feeble voice.

"Well, I should _hope_ so, though I hardly think you deserve it after everything."

"Now, now, Dromeda." Despite the risk to his well-being, Ted steps beside her and holds the door open wider, waving a hand to usher Remus in. "You can't keep a husband from his wife when they have making-up to do. It's OK if he comes in."

"It is _not_ OK. What sort of man runs out on his wife and child?"

Dromeda trains her gaze on him, seeing through him, and Ted flinches because he realizes how he's hurt her. This isn't about the children. Not completely, at least.

"The sort who believes he's doing what's best for them."

"By _abandoning_ them?"

The room has gone silent, and with every word the werewolf grows paler, shakier, more burdened with guilt. It's something they have in common, an unvoiced solidarity that is becoming increasingly difficult to hide with the passing days. Ted isn't happy with the decisions that his son-in-law have made, but he can't hold it against the man, either. Remus just wanted to do what he imagined was best for his child, and even though he was wrong, Ted understands the sentiment.

"Hush now, Dromeda," Ted says softly, reaching an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. It's a silent apology for what he'll have to do. She isn't as mad as she appears; she's afraid. She knows what he's planning. Of course she does. He never was any good at keeping things from her. She can read him just like a book.

He plants a kiss on her forehead, softly, breathing in her perfume. It's a memory he wants to keep, so he can pretend she's there even when she won't be.

"Everything will be just fine."

 **...oOo...**

The time has come. It's been a long time coming.

Dromeda purses her lips and insists, "You can't leave."

He counters with, "I won't register with the Muggle-Born Registration Commission."

"Well, obviously you won't."

She huffs like it's the most ridiculous idea in the world, and, in many ways, it is.

"They'll come looking for me."

"And they'll find _us_."

"That's right, they will. _All_ of us."

He sees understanding flicker in her eyes, and she averts them to hide it. She doesn't want to lend credence to his reasoning, because that's almost like giving him permission to go. Regardless of logic, she will fight to the last breath to defend her stance, even if they both know this is a losing battle. They have a daughter and soon a grandchild. This is the only way.

"If you go..."

She doesn't finish the thought, but they are of the same mind. They have always been. If he goes, there's a good chance he won't return, but it's a sacrifice he has to make. He can't—no, he won't—put his family at risk. Their safety is worth every hardship.

"I won't change my mind."

 **...oOo...**

There are Snatchers in the woods.

To the right. To the left. In front. There's only one way for them to go now and not much time to do it. But they're close, too close. Even if they rushed, they would never make it without drawing attention.

He glances to his comrades. The boy is terrified, eyes wide, sweat pouring off him. He's too young still to know what death looks like, but he's no fool, either. The Goblins, in true Goblin fashion, have already come to the conclusion that this will inevitably be where they make their final stand and have started preparing for it. Goblin magic can be fierce, but not fierce enough. Dirk is beside him, annoyed at the inconvenience, tired of running, ashamed at the indignity of it all, and ready to fight. It's all written in his face.

They are running out of time; a decision has to be made.

Ted whirls on his heels and seizes the boy by his shoulders, perhaps more fervently than he intends judging by the terrified reaction.

"There's no time to argue. Just listen. You're going to turn around, back where we came from, and you're going to run as fast as you can. Hear me?"

"But, Ted—"

"No. Listen. There's not much time. You're still a child. There's no sense in you staying for this, and there's a chance you can get away. We can buy you a little time. Take one of the Goblins with you."

"I'll go." Griphook steps forward to show that he's ready to go. He understands the urgency, even if the boy does not.

Ted steps back, drawing his wand. The voices are getting closer now, and time is almost up.

"If you see my wife, I need you to give her a message for me. Can you do that?"

The boy hesitates, then nods slowly, reluctantly.

"Tell her that I'm not giving up."

 **...oOo...**

He's dead.

It seems obvious, what with his body several feet away, being picked through by those vultures. As if he would have anything worth stealing after being on the run for so many months.

The reaper is in front of him, black robe shifting as if it's made of shadows.

His final message to his family is still rattling around his brain.

 _I'm not giving up._

"The boy?" he asks. "What happened to Dean?"

"Alive."

The voice is deep with a slight, lasting rumble to it, like the echo of the wind howling through the trees.

He knows what's next. Death, as far as he knows, only has a single purpose. It's fitting that he's the first to go, because this would never work if their roles were reversed. He's willingly waited for her before; this is nothing new to him. Stubbornly. Patiently. He can do it again.

 _I won't change my mind._

"My wife..."

"You can wait, but not here. Tell me, do you fear me?"

Dora has Remus, and soon Dromeda will have a grandchild to center her life around.

 _Everything will be just fine._

"No."


	4. Bellatrix Lestrange

**Author's Note:** Good ol' Bella is dedicated to my lovely Quidditch League captain and resident Black expert, Gitana del Sol, who I'm sure will flog me if I got this wrong. :) Also, this is largely influenced by her work "A Court of Three Sisters," which you should read if you haven't yet. This was incredibly difficult to write because Bella's such a complex character, and I am not at all confident about how to write her. The word I've chosen for Bella is betrayal.

* * *

Her birth was a betrayal.

No one ever comes right out and says it, and it's taken four years for her to realize it, but Bella sees it plain as day. It's hidden amid Father's incoherent ramblings as he paces, awaiting the birth of his third child. It's in the way his shoulders sag under the levity of awaiting his fate. This is his last chance to get it right.

There were warning signs along the way, but she never noticed. Small things dropped innocently enough into conversation. Carelessly, almost, like it doesn't really matter, even though it does. Things she could have done, should have done, if only...

She was supposed to be a boy; how dare she be a girl.

Father's face drops at the news. He's sired a third daughter. The Black bloodline, as far as his branch is concerned, has been broken. Cygnus Black III has no heirs. He scoops Droma into his arms and forces a smile. He doesn't say it, but Bella knows the truth just the same. It's her fault.

She was born to betray.

 **...oOo...**

"But you can't really go _without_ me," Droma whines, stomping her foot against the concrete.

"You can't come. You're still too little."

Bella busies herself adjusting her trunks just so, hoping Mother or Father will swoop in to save her from the imminent meltdown, but she has no such luck. They've fallen behind, too busy tending to Cissy to pay any mind.

"I am not! I'm nine and a half already."

"You have to be _eleven_ to go to Hogwarts."

"But...but...what about all the things you said we'd do together?"

Droma's lip quivers, and a small twinge of guilt blossoms in Bella's chest. They have always been inseparable, and Bella doesn't want to leave her sister. If she could, she would gladly sneak Droma onto the train with her, and they would share their first year of Hogwarts together, the way they've shared everything else. She has no choice but to leave Droma behind.

"You still have Cissy. Play with her, and you can write to tell me all about it."

"But she's still just a _baby_."

Droma's face contorts into a mixture of dread and disgust at the idea, and it's all Bella can do not to laugh. But it really isn't a laughing matter. She knows that, as she looks into tear-filled, brown eyes. There's a part of her sister's soul that is breaking, like a clumsy House-Elf that shatters the fine china, something priceless and irreplaceable, and it's all her fault.

"I'll be back at the end of the year. It's not like I'm leaving forever."

Forever. There's that word again, as tears finally spill down Droma's rosy cheeks. Bella had promised that they would be together forever, but even when she said it, she knew it was a lie. Nothing lasts forever, and she always knew that eventually she would have to leave.

It was always meant to end in betrayal.

 **...oOo...**

"I thought you said you were leaving."

Fret lines dig deep into Rodolphus' pale skin as his thin lips pull into a frown.

"I am. Just finishing getting ready."

"Yes, well, haven't you had adequate time? You said the same thing twenty minutes ago."

Bella dismisses Rodolphus' grumbling and pretends she hears nothing as she ambles around the house. She finished getting ready thirty minutes ago, but that doesn't excuse the fact that her husband is clearly rushing her out of the house for some reason or another. Instinct tells her that it has something to do with this "men's business" he so fondly mentions whenever he wants to dismiss her questions, as if that will dissuade her. She refuses to give up so lightly.

"Really, shouldn't you be off now, Bella?"

There's a slight whine of impatience in his tone, and Bella dons a sickly sweet smile as she faces him. He doesn't notice—or perhaps he doesn't care.

"Of course. I'd hate to be an imposition during your meeting today. I'm sure you men have a lot of important business to discuss, so I'll just be off to do my womanly things."

She grabs a handful of Floo powder and makes sure that he can hear loud and clear when she says, "Black Manor."

Green flames rush up to embrace her and carry her swiftly to her destination. When she reaches the other side, Bella brushes away the scattered remnants of soot that cling to her robes as she steps from the fireplace. Droma is sitting there in a large armchair and glances up from her book long enough to acknowledge Bella's presence.

"I wasn't expecting you today," she says as she closes it slowly and rests her hands on the cover.

"Can't I just come visit my dear sisters?"

"Of course, though it's just not like you to show up unannounced. Have you and Rodolphus had another fight already?"

"Merlin no. Not yet, at least."

Bella falls heavily into the armchair across from Droma, melting into the soft cushioning and allowing herself to slouch—just this once, since no one's really looking.

"Although," she continues after a few minutes in silence, twirling a stray black curl around her index finger, "it does seem that I've forgotten my wand."

"Oh?"

Dromeda's eyebrows quirk as a faint smile plays across her lips. Bella smiles back because her sister understands her perfectly; she always has.

"That'll never do, will it? Why, what's a witch without her wand?"

"I suppose you had better go back and get it, then, hadn't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I had."

Bella heaves a sigh as she stands and approaches the fireplace.

"Lovely visit. Do come again, won't you?" Droma says as she returns to her book.

Bella doesn't answer as she steps into the flames, directing them back to her place. By now, everyone will have had time enough to gather. Sure enough, as she steps out, she walks into a congregation of wizards, and a dozen sets of eyes turn to regard her.

"Dear me, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I meant to be gone today, but it seems I've left my wand, silly twit of a witch that I am."

Rodolphus clenches his jaw against the rage that's clearly brewing in his chest, and it's all Bella can do not to smile triumphantly in return. He thinks himself so clever, denying her access to Lord Voldemort on the premise of being a woman. She had never let that stop her before, and he's a fool if he truly believes it ever would.

"Mrs. Lestrange, I presume? Please, join us."

The voice is smooth and charming with all the reassurance of a lullaby. He's every bit the wonder Bella always imagined he was—and then some.

"If you insist, my lord," Bella says softly, taking her proper place beside her husband. Even though he refuses to look at her, she can feel him seething, like a dark aura is encasing his body, and she hopes the lesson is well-learned on his part.

One betrayal deserves another.

 **...oOo...**

Bella doesn't need to read the letter to know what's happened. They've been betrayed.

The manor is already trashed when she arrives, an honor no doubt bestowed upon Father once he realized what had become of his middle daughter. She could scarcely believe it. _Droma_ of all people. With a _Mudblood._

"Bella?"

Cissy's voice is weak and shaky, so unbefitting a Black that it's disgusting. Bella can see it in her eyes, that she was too naïve, too sheltered, unaware that someone she loved could wound her so. Bella turns away from her, because she can't stand to see it. It's the same look Droma had given her on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"We should go after her. Talk some sense into her. Maybe she's under the influence of some curse. I mean, she's our sister, and I'm sure we could—"

"We have no sister," Bella cuts her off. "She's made her choice."

The rage burns in her gut—sweltering, searing. _How dare she_. Bella resists the urge to destroy things because it isn't her house, but she wants something else to burn the way she does, to be consumed by the very flames that leave her gasping for air.

She storms down the hall with Cissy trailing in her footsteps. She slams open the door to the study and whips out her wand as she approaches the far wall. With a non-verbal curse, the wand sparks to life with a satisfying bang, and Andromeda's face on the tapestry is reduced to a black, charred hole. It seems like a fitting metaphor for the heavy hole in Bella's heart.

In the end, she's sure that this is somehow her fault.

It was always meant to end in betrayal.

 **...oOo...**

There's someone watching her; she's sure of it.

A tattered, black robe flutters in her peripheral vision, but Bella's learned to ignore them. A chill slithers down her spine, and she whimpers involuntarily.

 _I won't break._

She hugs herself tightly and pulls her knees to her chest, huddling against the wall as if it can help prevent her body from shaking. It doesn't.

 _Blacks don't break._

Even so, the cold tightens its grip on her—immense, suffocating. The darkness is inside of her like a thousand ants crawling in her veins, biting, stinging. She claws at her arm, gouging the skin in an attempt to set them free. There are no insects. Instead, long snakes drip slowly out of her, collecting on the stone around her feet. They start to hiss—a low, insidious sound that burrows into her bones and reverberates through every part of her body. It hurts. The more snakes that drip from her, the louder it gets, and the more it tears through her body until every atom is pulsing with pain.

It rises to a crescendo, and she finally understands what the snakes have been saying all along: "Just give in."

"Jusssssst...give..."

 _No! I won't! It isn't real._

Something in her shatters, and the world is spiraling between reality and fantasy. The lines are so blurred nowadays that she often forgets where she is or who she is. Sometimes reality is the nicer of the two; some days she accepts the fantasy.

In this place, she can trust no one. Even her mind conspires to betray her.

She was born to betray.

 **...oOo...**

She looks so much like Andromeda that a part of Bella weeps.

Fortunately, it's a small part, one that all but withered and died under the watchful eyes of the Dementors.

The Black family tree has been in need of pruning for quite some time now, and Bella fancies herself as good a gardener as any. After all, she got rid of the pesky dog, didn't she? Once this is finished, there will be no more blemishes, and her lord will be proud of her handiwork.

But this is more than that. It's not only for her master's sake that she lets the killing curse slip from her lips. She wants this with every fiber of her being. Her body trembles in anticipation, and when she can no longer contain it, Bella unleashes a cackle.

There's fear in her niece's dark eyes—so much like her mother's. It's glorious, watching the green reflected in them and seeing the life sucked out. Such a marvelous transformation. Such a perfect display.

What is it they say about a mother's intuition? Bella hopes that it's true. She wants Andromeda, wherever she is, to feel the pain of losing her daughter, to have her heart ripped from her chest, to leave behind an oozing, festering wound that will never heal. Bella wants her to rue the day she chose to give up being a Black. Let it be a lesson that Andromeda will never forget.

The crime warrants nothing less; the punishment has been well-earned.

One betrayal deserves another.

 **...oOo...**

Something familiar flashes in the blood-traitor's eyes.

Bella recognizes it, but she doesn't understand it. The memory is hazy, and she isn't entirely sure she hasn't simply dreamt it up.

Still, it reminds her...

No, she has to focus. Bella pushes the thought aside and fires off another curse. She will not be bested by a blood-traitor, and certainly not a Weasley, of all the filth. The other Death Eaters may have fallen. They were weak. But this is her duty to her lord, who is beside her as she is him, and it means everything to her that he trust her with this task. To let him down would be an ultimate betrayal of the faith he has in her ability. She won't allow that to happen.

But those eyes keep drawing her in, and she can't free herself from their prison. They remind her...

...of sky-blue eyes rocking her to sleep.

...of steel-gray eyes teaching her her first spell.

...of sapphire eyes chasing after her, begging to play.

...of brown eyes welcoming her home.

They remind her of something that was stolen somewhere along the way, something she can't remember ever having.

She falters, just for a second, but that's all the time it takes for the spell to hit her chest.

Her eyes search for her master, her lord, one final time. He's noticed her failure, and he fires off spells furiously. Bella sees it in his eyes, a flicker of understanding before the darkness consumes her: she's failed him.

It was always meant to end in betrayal.

 **...oOo...**

He doesn't mourn for her.

In all honesty, she knew he wouldn't. She's foolish, perhaps, but not stupid. Never stupid. He's angry to have lost a pawn, and it's a slight betrayal of her love. The realization hurts, but it doesn't surprise her. It's been a long time coming. After all, one betrayal deserves another.

She loves his power, his freedom, the way he commands his following, and the way he can so easily claim the things he wants. Admirable traits, the lot of them, and she craves them as if they will somehow transfer to her just from being in close proximity. But she does not love the man, has never loved the man.

But now she's dead, and things like love and power seem like foolish concepts to have given her life for. She sees it now, as if a fog has been lifted, but she doesn't necessarily regret it, either. While she doesn't like the person she became, desperately clawing at the heels of the powerful for validation and affection, she understands the road that led her there.

A hooded figure stands before her. When he speaks, his words are drawn out and raspy, like the squeak of a prison door slowly slamming shut.

"Do you fear me?"

 _No_ , she wants to say. Of course not. A Black does not fear, is too strong to fear. She isn't weak and refuses to let another man degrade her so. She won't fall, not this time, into such a state. Never again.

 _No_ , she wants to say, even though her heart is beating quickly and there's a tightness in her chest, but she finds herself unable to.

She was born to betray, so why won't the words come out? It's just a little, white lie. She's told enough of them by now that it should be second nature.

"Do. You. Fear. Me?"

Her lips expose the truth she tries to hide, but it's really not all that surprising. It was always meant to end in betrayal.

"Yes."

* * *

 **Prompts:**

The Quidditch Pitch: (Dialogue) "Just give in."

The Drabble Club: (Creature) Dementor


End file.
